THE BLIND SOVEREIGN: King of The Underworld

CHAPTER 1: The Bloodstained Crown Aboard the Yacht

The Mediterranean Sea that night looked like a vast sheet of calm black velvet. Yet on the deck of The Sovereign, the atmosphere was the very definition of absolute decadence. The one hundred and fifty meter yacht glittered beneath cascades of crystal lights, slicing through the waves with the arrogance of a floating kingdom. The scent of expensive Cuban cigars mixed with artisan perfume and salty sea mist, creating an atmosphere reserved for only a handful of people at the very top of the world’s pyramid.

Dante Moretti stood on the main deck balcony, holding a crystal glass filled with fifty year old whiskey. A custom tailored tuxedo from Milan’s finest tailor fit perfectly against his solid frame. At thirty five, Dante was not merely an heir, he was the architect behind the global expansion of the Moretti family.

“You look like a god gazing down at his ants, Dante,” a deep voice greeted him from behind.

Dante did not need to turn to recognize the sarcasm. “The world is small if you know how to grip its throat, Lorenzo. You should be enjoying the party instead of watching me.”

Lorenzo Moretti, the younger brother who always appeared more relaxed yet carried an unreadable gaze, stepped forward. He slowly sipped his premium champagne. “It’s hard not to observe a man who just swallowed two of the largest cartel families in a single merger contract. Tonight, you are no longer just a Moretti. You are the sole owner of the new silk road.”

“We, Lorenzo. This is for the family,” Dante corrected flatly.

“Of course. We,” Lorenzo chuckled, though the laughter never reached his eyes. “Father is very proud. He said that in your hands, Moretti blood turns into pure gold. But tell me, don’t you ever get tired of always being the smartest man in the room?”

Dante took a sip of his drink, his sharp eyes fixed on the crowd of tycoons and politicians below. “Fatigue is a luxury I can’t afford, Lorenzo. The moment you lower your guard, the ants start to bite.”

“And tonight you’re on guard?”

“Always.”

A waiter passed by with a silver tray, bowing deeply as he moved past them. In the center of the main hall, a masterpiece had just been unveiled, a crystalline ice sculpture of a dragon coiled around a crown, symbolizing Moretti hegemony. Spotlights reflected off its surface, creating a blinding shimmer for anyone who looked upon it.

“Look at that,” Lorenzo gestured toward the ice sculpture. “A symbol of your success. Come downstairs. The board members and family representatives are waiting for your victory speech. Don’t keep them waiting too long, Fratello.”

Dante set his glass on the balcony railing. “One more minute. I’m enjoying the silence before the noise begins.”

“You’re always so dramatic,” Lorenzo said, patting Dante’s shoulder familiarly, though his grip lingered a fraction tighter than usual. “I’ll prepare a toast for you. A toast to brotherhood.”

Dante gave a small nod. He watched his brother weave through the crowd, greeting guests with flawless sociopathic charm. Lorenzo had always been the friendly public face, while Dante remained the cold mind behind the curtain.

Five minutes later, Dante descended into the main hall. His presence immediately shifted the room’s frequency. Whispered conversations died down, and every eye turned toward the dark haired man with the chiseled jaw.

Lorenzo was already standing beside the massive ice sculpture, holding a golden microphone. In his other hand was a freshly opened Jeroboam of Cristal.

“Ladies and gentlemen, our partners, and those fortunate enough to be here tonight,” Lorenzo’s voice echoed through the hall. “Tonight is not just about business. Tonight is about vision. My brother, Dante Moretti, has proven that limits are merely imagination for those with the courage to defy them.”

Dante stood directly before the ice sculpture, only three meters from Lorenzo. He nodded to the guests, maintaining the stoic expression that had become his signature.

“Dante,” Lorenzo turned toward him, his face glowing beneath the hall lights. “To you, to the success of this merger, and to a future that will be… explosive.”

Dante frowned. Lorenzo’s choice of words felt strange. “Thank you, Lorenzo. Let’s finish this.”

“Oh, this is only the beginning,” Lorenzo whispered, low enough that only Dante could hear.

Lorenzo then raised his glass high. “To Dante Moretti. The New King.”

“To Dante!” the guests shouted in unison.

At that moment, Dante sensed something wrong. His gaze dropped to the base of the ice sculpture. Inside the crystal clear mass that should have been pure, there was a small device with a rapidly blinking red light. Dante’s pupils constricted.

“Lorenzo, what is that—”

Lorenzo did not answer. He only gave a crooked smile, then swiftly stepped back behind a thick concrete pillar.

BEEP.

The sound was faint, nearly drowned out by applause, but to Dante’s honed instincts, it rang like a death knell.

BOOM!

The explosion was not large, but it was precisely focused. Designed to shatter the ice sculpture into millions of razor sharp fragments like cannon shrapnel. A wave of heat slammed into Dante’s face, but worse were the crystal shards of ice and glass that tore through the air at supersonic speed.

“AAAARGH!”

Dante was thrown backward. His vision instantly turned red, then blinding white. An unimaginable pain stabbed into both of his eyes. It felt as if thousands of burning needles were driven simultaneously into his brain.

Chaos erupted. Women screamed, tables overturned, and panicked footsteps thundered through the hall. For Dante, everything began to fade. He tried to open his eyes, but all he felt was warm liquid pouring endlessly from his eyelids.

“Dante! Oh God, Dante!” a woman screamed from afar, but her voice was quickly swallowed by the sound of gunfire.

Dante tried to rise, his hands groping across a floor slick with champagne, blood, and shattered ice. “Lorenzo…” he groaned, his voice hoarse from inhaling chemical smoke.

Calm footsteps approached. Dante felt someone standing directly before him. Summoning the last of his strength, he lifted his head. His vision was blurred, veiled in a red fog of blood, but he could make out Lorenzo’s silhouette, standing tall and completely unharmed.

“You know, Dante,” Lorenzo’s voice rang clear and cold amid the chaos. “Father always said you were the eyes of this family. You saw everything before anyone else did. So I wondered… what would a genius be without his eyes?”

“You… bastard…” Dante coughed blood.

“Don’t blame me entirely. The board agreed. You were too powerful, Dante. Too uncontrollable. And a blind king… is nothing more than a pitiful display.”

Lorenzo crouched, bringing his face close to Dante’s ear. “Say goodbye to your beautiful world, Brother. I’ll take good care of your crown.”

Lorenzo signaled to two armed guards behind him. They grabbed Dante’s limp body and dragged him toward the shattered edge of the deck.

“Wait,” Lorenzo said softly. “Let him see his final view.”

Dante was forced against the heated railing. With a final, agonizing effort, he pried his eyes open once more. Through the flames now consuming The Sovereign’s hall, he saw Lorenzo. His brother raised a still full glass of champagne and smiled broadly at him, a cruel smile of victory.

That was the last image ever recorded by Dante Moretti’s retinas.

“Throw him,” Lorenzo ordered coldly.

Dante’s body was hurled into the air. The next second, gravity seized him. The cold night wind sliced across the burns on his face before finally…

SPLASH!

The icy Mediterranean swallowed him whole. Dante sank fast. Water pressure crushed against his ruined eyes, delivering a second wave of agony that nearly stole his consciousness. In the dark depths, he could only hear the yacht’s engines fading away and the muffled thud of secondary explosions above.

Dante began to run out of oxygen. His lungs burned. In that total darkness, at the edge of death, a rage hotter than the explosion ignited within his soul.

If I die here, he wins.

If I die here, this betrayal becomes history.

Dante stopped struggling. He let his body go still, allowing his survival instincts to take over. In the absolute silence beneath the water, he began to notice things he never had before. The pulse of his own heartbeat. The friction of water sliding past his ears. The bubbles rising toward the surface.

His visual world was dead. Extinguished.

But within that darkness, a new awareness began to creep in. A pure, unfiltered hatred. Dante swore that if the sea did not claim him that night, he would crawl back from hell itself and reclaim every inch of what had been stolen from him.

His consciousness slowly faded as the undercurrent carried him away. The last sensation he felt before total darkness enveloped his mind was the cold of the water, like the embrace of an executioner.

Lorenzo… enjoy your crown while you can.

Dante Moretti sank into eternal darkness, yet his soul refused to be extinguished. That night, amid shattered luxury, a Titan fell, only to be reborn as something far more dangerous within the shadows.